


come what may

by venomedveins



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sex, Smut, talk of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: Set on the night before the final battle, Agron must come to terms that he is still warrior and still lover, even with limited use of his hands.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir
Comments: 11
Kudos: 242





	come what may

**Author's Note:**

> This is from an anonymous prompt sent to me on tumblr as: so I'm just finishing a rewatch of Spartacus and idk if you do... requests or whatever but I figured I'd throw this at you, maybe it'll trigger inspo, if not feel free to ignore it lol: Nasir and Agron's last night together before the last big battle with Agron and his wounds and just. Thinking it will be their last time together! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> It's very fucking angsty, just to warn you.

Fires flickering in the dark, the moon a hang nail of a god hanging in the sky. Agron remembers when sight of gathered rebels lifted spirits, when Rome felt like enemy soon to be struck under sword and gnashing teeth. When Spartacus – Rebel King – was leading charge of warriors against the greatest foes, liberating and freeing all those who would see themselves from chains and from under whip. 

Now though, fear tinges along spine, twisting hot and acidic in chest. Everyone bears scares of Roman hands, of spite and hatred, carved deep into skin. Agron knows this best, staring down at ruined hands – a cruelty only Caesar himself would think of – to rob a warrior, a gladiator, of his tools. Other cuts and lacerations falls away in comparison to Agron’s swollen palms – left brutalized and gnawed open. 

He has not spoken of what happened while in Roman camp, only hinted at plans he overheard and what was done to him. He does not think he could stay looks of pity, of horror, at treatment and torture. Agron is still alive, which is blessing of itself, but it isn’t without blemishes. He still can close eyes and see Caesar’s looming face, the words whispered when other guards backs were turned, the wandering hands – marveling and twisting at Agron. 

“You fall to dark thoughts, brother.” Spartacus’ voice is beside him, the man stepping out from shadows. “Why do you linger along trees like some haunt, when I am sure bed is warm and waiting for you?”

“What is point when I have been made useless?” Agron sighs into the cool air, gaze lifting from encampment to stars. He loves Spartacus like brother, truth seems to spill from lips every time he is provoked to speak. “I cannot close fist, cannot use fingers for any purpose. I am better put to use keeping watch then trying to rest for battle I can barely participate in.”

“I do not send you to bed for rest.” Spartacus leans against Agron’s side, arms brushing. 

“Then wha-“ Agron turns sharply, only for words to fumble. He already understands before Spartacus begins to voice reason, meeting his gaze easily. 

“For many days, we thought you gone from this earth. And we mourned you – all of us – but loss was most keenly felt by one who holds your heart.” Spartacus gently places hand on Agron’s shoulder. “Nasir was not himself. I feared we were going to lose him to grief. He would not want me telling you, but when news struck, I was one to pry him from tent. He laid wrapped in your cloak for days, unable to do much than cry. I thought he was to afterlife to follow you.”

“It was foolish to leave. I am aware of my mistakes,” Agron’s stomach twists at news. He has not dared ask what happened while he was away, not wanting to know if Nasir was able to move on and find solace with someone else. He doubts it though, not with the way Nasir had clung to him, had sobbed in quiet relief that night when he lay beside a feverish Agron.

“You were.” Spartacus nods. “But you are not gone from this world. You stand here, just as much a champion as you always have been. And Nasir’s love for you does not rely on whether or not you hold sword. You know this.”

Agron nods head once, turning gaze once more onto rebel encampment. There is no loud celebrating tonight, no music or heavy wine. No, everyone seems to have found a place to stay, to hide and wait or try and make most of remaining hours before Romans attack. And yet, Agron stands here, unsure if he is worthy to enter his own tent, to touch man that had not turned from him, even when Agron had turned back himself. 

“Rome will come regardless if you are here to watch them.” Spartacus lets fingers slip from Agron’s skin. “Go to your tent, take Nasir to bed, set mind to remembering the pleasures and joys of this world, before we are gone from it.”

Agron lets him go, listens to Spartacus’ quiet retreating footsteps, before he turns away from sights and follows. He does not know if he has words to say to Nasir, to calm and sooth wound of departure, to somehow make it up to him. Agron cannot put hands to purpose, cannot bring him to highest pleasure as he once did. He has been struck useless, dumb by Rome’s cruelty, but perhaps presence will be enough. 

Tent is lit by few low candles on small box in corner when Agron flips open doorway, the gold light flickering over walls. Nasir is sitting by edge of bed, leather straps of Agron’s armor held between fingers, working salve into tight skin. It will soften the material, let it not chafe or shred – a kindness only Nasir would deem necessary. Before great departure, before Agron had followed Crixus blindly into battle, Nasir would often do small kindnesses like this for Agron – mend cloth or sharpen sword or fix tool. Another way for Nasir to show heart’s devotion. 

He looks up when Agron enters, eyes seeming huge and dark. Agron has not yet had his fill of looking at Nasir, of tracking small, subtle changes made by time. His hair is longer, left loose around shoulders with ribbon left to the side. There are dark circles under his eyes, mouth bitten raw in worry and fear, but look in gaze has not wavered – warmth and surprise at seeing Agron there. 

“You do not sleep?” Agron asks, surprised to not see him sleeping. Hour is late. 

“I-“ Nasir puts down small bowl of salve, worrying bottom lip. “I couldn’t. I did not know what to do. I have done all that I could think to. Swords sharpened. Armor ready. Everything prepared.”

“You do not want this fight.” Agron sighs, moving around tent to take place beside Nasir on bed. “Why do you stay? There is a life for you outside of battle and bloodshed.”

“Stop!” Nasir hisses, breathless and hurt. “I will not hear this from you again.”

“I only want-“ Agron begins, imploring. He holds palms up to Nasir, showing him the curls of bandages over wounds. “I only want to spare you from this.”

“You can’t!” Nasir sets armor away from him, turning on bed to face Agron. “You cannot spare me from life I have chosen. I am a warrior. My place is beside you – in life or in death. You left me and yet gods saw it to return you to my arms. I will not scoff at blessing.”

“I am not man I once was.” Agron struggles, words getting caught in throat, choking him. “I will never hold sword or spear as I once did. Never grip in hands all I once did. Caesar drove nails through palms. He knew what such wound would do to me – he told me so - unable to even touch you as I once did. He wanted to ruin me.”

“Do I not have two hands?” Nasir suddenly snaps, reaching out and cupping Agron’s face between. “Can I not touch when you cannot? Can I not hold what you can’t? I do not only want you for ability of fingers. Strike such simple thoughts from mind.”

“I am unworthy of your love if I fail to even-“ Agron struggles, usually man of few words now forced to speak when he cannot act. “Caesar spoke of his time here, of watching us-“

“Hush.” Nasir sooths, leaning in to rest forehead against Agron’s. “You are here, alive and with me. It is a blessing from the gods themselves and he will never touch you again. I do not wish to hear his name – not from this mouth that belongs only to me.”

Nasir has to raise onto knees to reach Agron, kiss chaste and a little off center. Agron is one to tilt head, to align lips and take more, mouths melding and searching. He can taste the wine on Nasir’s tongue, the soft, wet splitting of his lips, dizzying in its surrender. Nasir’s gasping breath spreads over his cheeks, fingers desperate as they stroke through Agron’s hair. 

“Agron, _Agron_ ,” Nasir moans, leaning back from embrace, “How could you think I only love you for your hands? For what you can do with them?” 

Sitting back on heels, Nasir is gentle to cup Agron’s hands in his own, ghosting tearful kiss across fingertips. Through the tenderness, Agron can feel phantom press of them – not completely losing all feeling. He lets Nasir do what he will, trailing lips up and then over wrists, awed and struck dumb by caress. 

“I love this,” Nasir murmurs, kisses scattered and wet over Agron’s chest, “For heart is contains, for pillow it becomes late in night, for place to hide face when I am scared and find solace in your strength. For laughter it contains that seems only to be for me.”

Agron groans when Nasir’s hands ghost over his thighs, reaching blindly to start untying subligaria. He has always been clever with fingers, quick to act even as mouth and eyes are set to task. Agron can do nothing to aid him, but watches through half lidded eyes as Nasir is put to task.

“Legs that brought you to me, taught me on sands to wield spear and claim freedom and purpose of my own, stood titan above all others.” Nasir chokes a little on tears, leaning down to kiss along newly exposed hip. “When we swam deep in the woods, forgetting we were supposed to be hunting.”

“Nasir,” Agron is careful as he turns hands over, lefts barest edge of fingertips brush over his cheek. “You are heavens sent.”

He does not need to lead Nasir up, he does it on his own, peppering slow kisses over Agron’s neck, nuzzling at his jaw, before meeting his eye. And how long did it take for Nasir to be able to do this? To meet gaze with his own? To find voice and know safety was with Agron, that he would never be put to task again?

“For this,” Nasir’s thumb brushes over Agron’s lips. “My first and only kiss. You were so patient and you let me choose – when you could have demanded. Your position would have allowed it. But you asked name and talked to me like real man, not pretty slave to warm bed.”

“You deserve only the best of life, Nasir,” Agron whispers, chest clenching at tears in Nasir’s eyes. 

“I am new to desire,” Nasir whispers, sliding forward to straddle over Agron’s legs, drawing them close together. “I have never been allowed to want for anything until Spartacus ripped collar from neck. But I know heart is for you, Agron. You and only you.”

Heat surges in chest, and Agron uses forearms to pull Nasir towards him, lips crashing. Kiss is urgent this time, mouths quick to meet and open, Nasir’s moan muffled into Agron’s skin. Tongues slide together, pushes into Nasir’s mouth and Agron feels as if he could devour and never be full. Nasir fits against him as if gods crafted him to be there, as both were made to be one. 

Sorrow and pity melt away when affronted with raw emotion – Agron nearly choking on how much he feels at once. Hour is already late and it may be last night they walk among earth. Agron has already wasted so much time regretting what has happened, the mistakes that he has made to put sorrow in Nasir’s eyes and tears upon face, he will not squander time now. No, if they should fall tomorrow, he will make memory sweet before afterlife. 

“You are my heart.” Agron pulls back long enough to gasp words across Nasir’s tear streaked face. “In this life and whatever comes next.”

“Agron, _please_ ,” Nasir begs, though is not sure what for. To not let night be in vain. To not speak of hurtful things. To be allowed to touch and hold and not be suffocated by the remembrance of what is to come. “I cannot be without you again.”

Agron has never been able to deny Nasir – never wanted to. He can only nod, using wrists to push at Nasir’s thin vest, knocking it from shoulders. It seems to prompt Nasir into motion, sliding from lap only to quickly remove clothes. Agron uses heels to push himself up bed, letting fabric slip from body from Nasir’s fingers undoing knot. There is little he can do to aid in removal of pants and fabric, but he does not allow himself to linger on such thoughts, distracted as Nasir is suddenly back in embrace, naked and warm. 

This time, like all times before, Agron is slow and marvels at play of candle light over Nasir’s tan skin. Body once kept smooth and supple for pleasure, Nasir has hardened into skilled warrior, bearing scars of times in battle and fighting. There is still soft spots upon body though, curve of waist into smooth hips, arch of neck, the velvet touch of skin on inner thigh, supple line of his ass. Agron could drink and drink and never feel full of sighs of Nasir before him, naked and full of warm lust. 

“Nasir, Nasir, _Nazir_ ,” Agron slurs name, biting kisses into Nasir’s throat, already drunk on taste of skin on tongue, “Fuck the gods!”

“Tell me what to do,” Nasir whimpers, fingers unable to stay still as they drag paths over Agron’s shoulders. “I only want to bring you pleasure.”

“You already do,” Agron mumbles words into Nasir’s ear, using arms to drag Nasir to him, flush until no air separates them, sweat slick and grinding. Sitting up with Nasir against him, Agron can reach everything at once.

“I want you inside of me.” Nasir’s hand slides between them, gripping crown of Agron’s cock, finding it slick and warm. “I need to find oil.”

“Wait,” Agron leans back from mark he is working into Nasir’s throat, collapsing across pillows. Hands may be useless, fingertips barely able to stand pressure of resting against Nasir’s thigh, but Agron will not be swayed from task. 

He moves back until comfortable, until pillow rests securely under neck and then glances down length of body at Nasir. This is act that Nasir has most struggled to accept, shocked and horrified first time Agron had flipped him onto stomach and attempted it. To place one’s mouth there, to let tongue press in and explore, is lowest of acts – something Nasir had gods blessedly avoided as often as possible. For Agron to do it, to lower himself to that station, seems almost unimaginable. 

“I can open self for you,” Nasir hesitates, face burning red and onto neck. “You do not need to-“

“It is my desire,” Agron answers honestly, allowing Nasir to make choice. “To taste and feel you open for me, to let me inside most sacred space.”

“What if I hurt you?” Nasir has not stopped grinding into Agron, and cock hangs heavy and red against Agron’s own. 

“I would gladly die, suffocated on your wet heat,” Agron’s smirk is all dimples, eyes flashing when Nasir chokes on an inhale, a memory of other times when look at been given to Nasir, “but if you fear it that much, I will simple tap leg if I am in distress.”

Nasir still appears unsure, but he slides off of Agron’s lap to stand regardless, stepping around stomach and chest, to kneel near shoulders. He makes sure to kiss Agron before he swings over, press and curl of tongue almost like preview, before Nasir finds himself straddling Agron’s face. The brush of stubble over thighs and then across sack has Nasir gasping loudly, hands left to bury in own hair as he sinks further down. 

Here, in the dark between Nasir’s spread legs, Agron is king. He feasts as if one, turning face up and running tongue from heavy sack and then further down, tasting soft curl of skin that winks at his attention. Skin pressed around Agron’s head muffles Nasir’s sharp cry, thighs trembling against his ears as Agron uses forearms to lock Nasir’s hips into place, reaching up and pressing tip of tongue inside of him. Nasir is soft and sweet here, the fragrant scent of citrus oil and mint filling Agron’s senses as he begins to tease inside. 

Nasir is mess above, head thrown back and sharp cries being offered up to the heavens. He is sure others around them can hear him, probably Spartacus whose tent lingers nearby and also Castus – still unable to keep safe distance even though Agron has returned. Nasir cannot linger on proper etiquette now though, dizzy and lost in sensation of Agron’s mouth on him, opening him up, devouring and tasting most secret part of Nasir. He swears highest peak will be reached even before Agron’s cock has chance to be inside. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nasir pants helplessly, pleasure so acute it brings tears to Nasir’s eyes. He is already close, but is afraid if he pulls away, then it will all be ended. 

Seeming to sense his distress, Agron lifts arms from thighs and nudges against him, letting Nasir know to lift off. Gasped breath against wet hole is torture in of itself, but Agron’s deep, command has Nasir’s legs shaking again. He manages to scoot back, once more settling over Agron’s leaking cock, eyeing it with hungry eyes as he leans down to lap over tip. 

“Later, now I would put you to task.” Agron motions to right of bed where bottle of oil has been discarded. It is nearly half empty, with the contents being from bottle kept before Agron had left. 

“I can only do this if you kiss me,” Nasir groans, leaning in to press slow, open kisses to Agron’s jaw. They rearrange, Agron uses elbows to lean up and kiss Nasir’s mouth while he slicks fingers inside of self. Agron knows it won’t be enough, not truly, with Agron’s cock standing heavy and long compared to Nasir’s small body, but it will have to be enough. Agron does not think he has strength to drive Nasir into mattress, left unable to do much more than kiss slow and open, and speaks words of encouragement to Nasir’s eager hands. 

“I can not wait,” Nasir croons, sticky hand leaving print on Agron’s thigh as he tries to readjust. “I must have it.”

“You will hurt self,” Agron’s brow furrows, still unconvinced of Nasir’s prep, but other man bites vicious smirk into lip, rocking down upon Agron. 

“Let me feel it, let me be sore and send me to heavens with feeling of you inside of me.” Nasir grips base of cock, lining up and beginning to press down. “Fu-fuck! Agron!”

It is desperate cry that puts Agron into motion, leaning up and wrapping arms firmly around Nasir’s waist. He may not be able to grip with hands, to control movement, but he does grasp him this way, halting Nasir’s decent into something slower. Nasir, who is all desperate hands and wide mouth, caught gasping against Agron’s mouth, body coiled tight and warm around him. It has been many moons since they have fallen together like this, and though there is no doubt in Agron’s mind that Nasir has been made for him, opening of body is vice and resistant. 

“How-“ Agron grunts, loosening arms only to allow Nasir to sink further onto cock, “can you remain this way? It is like first time all over again.”

“I have not been with anyone but you,” Nasir confesses, pressing wet and open mouthed kisses to Agron’s jaw. “Thought of it sent heart into shatters.”

Agron does not want to think about what Nasir could and should have done with him gone. He had hoped, in some way, that Nasir broken heart wound mend in arms of another. That he would not hurt or mourn for him when Agron eventually left for afterlife. But here, once more blessed to hold Nasir in arms, to taste and smell and see him, Agron realizes how foolish of an idea it was. How could he ever imagine Nasir anywhere but here? With him?

Nasir is careful not to pet fingers over large cut to Agron’s shoulder, to avoid nicks and scratches, the bruises along ribs. He plants knees close enough he can lift upon them, holding Agron’s face between his hands instead as he slowly begins to rock against him. Body is still strong below him, cut of Agron’s shoulders, the indent of thighs, still a gladiator, still a warrior that Nasir has found to be both hard and soft. All wounds will heal, Nasir knows this, and yet strength still remains. 

“You are perfection,” Agron praises, using fold of elbows to pull Nasir against him, to turn face up and kiss over throat. Nasir is sweat slick and warm here, tasting sharply of salt when Agron works teeth into skin. “You take me so well.”

“Agron,” Nasir moans loudly, head tossed back. He has always fallen under praise, stomach turning hot and liquid when Agron rains compliments around him. In a way, Nasir supposes, calling of name is much like prayers sent to gods, and in this bed, Nasir lives to worship Agron and Agron alone. 

“Come on,” Agron praises, digging heels into bed and lifting hips to meet Nasir. It is not measured or controlled, rough as he presses in high and tight, flexing sore muscles to keep him there. 

When Nasir had been trained to be body slave, it was often on knees, turned from face, kept still and open with hand around collar. Now though, under gentle patience of Agron’s hand, Nasir has learned to love position. Close enough he can feel panted breath on face, stare into luminous green eyes, feel chest to chest, cock brushing over flat planes of Agron’s stomach. It drives him forward, put to task of taking Agron’s cock inside of him over and over again, encouraged by Agron’s panted breath and tongue against throat. 

Agron can only brush very tip of fingers over Nasir’s spine, but it is enough, to feel smooth skin once more against him. He is over run with sensation, lost in delirium of having Nasir above him, of being inside of him, of watching sweat and tears trail over Nasir’s smooth cheeks and onto jaw. He chases them with his tongue, uses what he can of arms to hold Nasir to him, to encompass him in press of body to own. 

“I am close,” Nasir mumbles, digging pelvis to Agron’s so he can rut against abs. 

“Do you wish-“ Agron begins, looking miserably at ruined hands, but Nasir distracts him, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“No, just like this,” He mutters against Agron’s mouth, tongue brushing over lip. “It is enough.”

Nasir’s body twists tight, vice clamping down on Agron’s leaking cock. He cannot escape mounting pleasure as it twists in lower spine, burning across hips. After so many months of fearing Agron gone from this world, of Nasir left alone in the cruelty of it all, Nasir cannot seem to phathom blessing that is Agron below him. It brings sharp, angry tears to his eyes, his chest that had once felt broken and empty, refilling with so much love for the man under him. 

Agron can sense it before it happens, Nasir’s sharp cry as he finds completion mixed with the sorrowful moan of tears. They fall fast and warm over Nasir’s face, smeared from cheek to cheek as Agron leans in, cups wrists to Nasir’s jaw and tilts face up, kissing them away. Nasir is spurting between them, body clamping down as much as he can to keep Agron there and against him. It does not relent, even as Agron finds heels to bed and rolls them. 

Aching pain through chest and back makes it torture, but Agron presses forearms to bed and ruts into Nasir, unable to raise body even if he wanted to. He knows Nasir craves this, loves the bulk and weight of Agron above him, anchoring him to blankets below. A security he has never been allowed until Agron brought him into his bed. It can only last a few, deep thrusts before Agron’s cock begins to spill, the groan lost in the sharp press of a bite to Nasir’s throat. It seems to help though, soothing Nasir’s sharp cries into whimpered moans. 

“Agron,” Nasir murmurs, his fingers dragging slow and careful through hair, “Your hands! You shouldn’t-“

“Hush,” Agron grumbles, leaning in to press slow kiss to Nasir’s bruised mouth. “I am well. All is well when I am within your arms.”

“I thought heart would never beat again,” Nasir’s legs wrap around Agron’s waist, dragging bulk against him. He is heavy, a pressing, nearly suffocating heat, but Nasir does not let him lift off, breathing slow and sharp. “When Naevia spoke of you, I thought gods would be kind and strike me from earth so I could follow you.”

“I am here, Nasir. I am.” Agron turns face to kiss Nasir’s jaw, to bury into neck and breathe him in. “I am wounded but I am alive.”

“I would take you anyway I could have you,” Nasir’s tears still flow, though sobs are softer now, less ragged. “With sword in hand or without. As warrior. As farmer. As vagrant on street. As spirit waiting in afterlife for me.”

“Do not think such dark things. You are alive as well and will live on for many days.” Agron uses wrist to turn Nasir’s face to him. He is still buried inside of Nasir, not even sure he could become closer if he wanted, but he kisses Nasir with open mouth, letting tongue taste and tease until Nasir is panting and whining below him. 

“After all I have done in my life, all I have had to endure,” Agron whispers vow against Nasir’s lips, “if this is the end of my days, the end of my time, then I am blessed beyond all others that I can stand and face it with you.”

“Agron,” Nasir draws back, barely a breath between them, eyes searching over Agron’s in surprise and devotion. 

“Do not leave side tomorrow,” Agron’s words are clear, strong and sure. “If we fall or if we triumph tomorrow, we do so together.”

“You swear?” Nasir asks, breathless and eyes wide. 

“I swear.”

They lay like that, entwined and together, until sleep overtakes them, moon high is sky above.


End file.
